Dawn of Legends
by Terr Mys
Summary: When a young pilot in the Rebel Alliance experiences combat firsthand, his life enters a new phase that will lead to a legendary existence.
1. Prologue

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.  
  
The Galactic Civil War rages on, as the evil Empire plans to reveal a weapon even more powerful than its predecessor, strong enough to eliminate the Rebel threat once and for all.  
  
On a secret mission for the Rebel Alliance, Captain Baaka Mal'lar and several members of the Bothan SpyNet race to deliver stolen information on the second Death Star battle station.  
  
Fearing the information may lead to the destruction of the station and defeat for the Empire, Imperial officers have ordered an unfaltering pursuit of the Bothan spies... 


	2. Too Easy

Crrrsssh! The sound of a searing laser bolt piercing the hull of his ship certainly put Baaka on edge. He wasn't ready to lose his most prized possession to a squad of Imperial TIE Fighters, not now. He had to focus; his craft was carrying a cargo vital to the survival of his cause. He veered to face his co-pilot, whom he commanded in their native tongue, Bothan.  
  
"Redirect all shield recharge to the aft quadrants!"  
  
"Yes, Captain."  
  
Despite his dire concerns, fear was never visible in the old captain's face. Even in his elderly age he maintained an air of composed grace, which showed in his twinkling brown eyes. He was short compared to the veteran human pilots of the day, but in truth he surpassed most of them by years of combat experience. This part of him was visible in his haggard, gray fur.  
  
"Captain! I-"  
  
Baaka's co-pilot was cut short by a barrage of laser fire striking the rear of the Bothan cruiser. The craft shook fiercely. Captain Mal'lar seemed completely unshaken, as always.  
  
"You were saying something?" The furry humanoid gave a crooked smile to his rookie companion, a testament to his seasoned flight experience.  
  
Pursuing the Bothan craft was a squadron of three TIE Fighters; regular patrol units who had been dispatched to hunt down and destroy the seemingly harmless ship without question. Unbeknownst to the Imperial pilots, the Bothans were carrying the plans to the Empire's second Death Star battle station - plans, which, if given to the Rebel Alliance, would prove disastrous for the Emperor's vile agenda.  
  
The fighters fired incessantly at their target, striking its metallic surface with brilliant flashes of green light. The two pilots maneuvered desperately to evade the incoming blasts, and retaliated with cannons mounted on the cruiser's hull. One of the fighters transformed abruptly into a blinding fireball.  
  
"One down, two to go." the captain muttered, hopeful.  
  
The cruiser's guns fired unrelentingly at the fighters, lasers whizzing by each in a chaotic manner. Finally, a barrage from one of the starship's rear cannons struck the wing of one of the remaining TIEs, igniting its metal structure. Losing control, the pilot hurtled into his wingman. Kkrrraooosh!  
  
Baaka let out a distinct, guttural cheer to celebrate the apparent victory. His moment of relief was short-lived, however, when his cheer was interrupted by the words of his co-pilot.  
  
"Captain, I'm picking up a formation of TIE Interceptors! They're heading straight for us!"  
  
The captain's heart sank. Dodging Fighters was one thing, but the Empire's new TIEs were even more maneuverable, and were equipped with the most advanced firepower and technology in small craft to date. There's no time to reach the Hyper Point. he thought.  
  
As the Interceptors came within range, Baaka was startled when he realized that his ship wasn't taking any more fire. The enemy craft seemed to approach from a decent firing distance, but merely decelerated toward their target.  
  
"They're not firing! What are they waiting for?"  
  
Looking at his control panel with a startled expression, the co-pilot replied, "Captain.I've lost control of the ship!"  
  
A look of painful realization appeared on Baaka's gaunt face. "No.they're using a tractor beam!"  
  
Captain Mal'lar's ship came to a halt in space as its engines were countered by the lead Interceptor's beam system. The larger, more powerful craft suddenly became helpless within the technology of the small fighter. It was like being grabbed around the torso by a mad Wookiee, Baaka thought.  
  
The Bothan co-pilot noticed a flashing light on his control panel. "We're receiving a transmission," he said, turning on the comlink system.  
  
A broken message came across the comlink from the voice of a male TIE pilot. "Unidentified hostile craft V2-71, you will be escorted to the nearest command station shortly. Your flight system and weapons are off- line."  
  
The captain was struck with a sudden fear. With the information they were carrying, there was no chance that the Imperials would let him and his crew go alive. His mind raced with thoughts - thoughts of his comrades who had fallen at the hands of ruthless Stormtroopers during the mission. Would he suffer the same fate? Looking over to his co-pilot, he could sense the trust that his remaining crew placed in him. They awaited a leader's decision, but all he could do in his dazed condition was state the obvious. "They're jamming us."  
  
"Sir," responded the co-pilot, "what should we do? If we're taken back, they'll kill us just like they did the others!"  
  
Baaka may have needed reassurance, but he now realized that it was his job to deliver that. But his thoughts raced once again - from fear, to death, to his friends.his family. He suddenly thought about all the people who depended upon him; the fate of the galaxy depended upon him, on this very mission. He had to push aside his fearful thoughts of the future. The future is difficult to see. he assured himself. Fear.leads to suffering, he remembered.  
  
"What's in the lower cargo bay?" he asked his co-pilot, evidently with a plan in mind.  
  
"Explosive charges.for the Alliance."  
  
"Open up the backdoor," Baaka said with newfound confidence. He was sure that his plan would work.  
  
His co-pilot searched anxiously for the cargo bay release on the ship's control panel. With a gulp, he pressed the button. The door to the lower cargo bay flung open, sending a horde of explosives into the range of the lead Interceptor's tractor beam. The pilot, busy making communications with his command station, had no time to evade the stream of magnetized bombs hurling towards his cockpit. "What the-" the Interceptor pilot looked through his viewport just in time to see a charge fly through the glass.  
  
The awesome explosion sent the remaining two fighters of the Interceptor squad diving in a defensive direction. Clear of the flaming space debris, the two pilots regained their lock on the Bothan cruiser and entered attack formation.  
  
"Quick! Get to the Hyper Point!" Baaka commanded.  
  
The cruiser returned to full throttle as the trailing fighters began blasting away. The Bothan pilots struggled to dodge the streams of searing light while returning fire at the highly maneuverable Interceptors.  
  
Noting the damage caused to the cruiser's shields, the co-pilot was overcome with a sense of certain doom. "Captain, I don't think we can-"  
  
"Keep flying!"  
  
The TIEs rolled in and out of the ship's cannon fire, firing incessantly at its hull. Their strikes blasted away the last trace of shield energy on the cruiser's rear half. Baaka and his co-pilot, noticing their dire situation, exchanged glances reflective of their feelings. This is it. the captain thought.  
  
Suddenly, something miraculous happened. The TIEs stopped firing. They turned upwards, returned to formation, and flew in the opposite direction. They've stopped firing, Baaka said to himself, with a desperate inner plea for relief.  
  
"Captain.they're returning to their command station!"  
  
"That was a little too easy," Baaka said, genuinely wondering why the fighters had ceased the pursuit. Had they traveled beyond their command station's zone of control? It was uncharacteristic of Imperial fighters to simply retreat from an enemy craft. Or had they received orders not to destroy them? The captain was too caught up in this sudden rush of uneasy thoughts to realize that his co-pilot was nervously waiting for the order to make the jump to light speed.  
  
"Captain, we've arrived at the Hyper Point. Shall I proceed?"  
  
"Oh, yes. Activate the Hyperdrive." 


	3. Space Games

This is crazy, the young pilot thought to himself. Damaging one A-wing was one thing, but risking two? Moreover, risking his life and the life of his best friend? She must be out of her mind.  
  
The two Rebel craft hovered in space, high above the landscapes of Bothawui, at three kilometers apart. The two young pilots directed their craft toward the other, engaged in a temporary discursion from the toils of regular patrol exercises. Within the A-wing fighters were two of the Alliance's most ambitious recruits - a young woman, Sorcha Da-Wee; and a young man, Terr Mys.  
  
Sweat blurred the visor on the inside of Terr's helmet. He had agreed to this 'exercise' solely to please Sorcha, but he found himself once again questioning his own judgment, not to mention that of his capricious companion. Feeling the need to address his fears, he activated his comm. System. "Uh.Sorcha.are you sure this is safe? I mean, I don't think-"  
  
"You need to learn to be less cautious, Terry," she interrupted, using her exclusive nickname for him. "Just trust me. This'll be fun!"  
  
Switching off his comlink, Terr sighed. How could he argue with her? He knew what they were about to pull was dangerous, not only for their lives, but for their careers. Still, he thought, what harm could a little fun do? He could use a little relief from the humdrum days he spent with his caretaker amidst the Bothans on their homeworld.  
  
"Ready?" Sorcha asked.  
  
Terr responded by activating his engines. In an instant, he and Sorcha were off; the two craft accelerating steadily until reaching maximum speed. The A-wings were the fastest fighters in the Rebel fleet, but both pilots had enough confidence in their abilities that they could successfully perform this risky maneuver.  
  
Like two ends of a power coupling, the A-wings seemed magnetized on a single plane. Traveling at breakneck speed, the void between them quickly became scarce. Both pilots were suddenly stricken by brief moments of extreme fear and doubt, but this was instantaneously replaced by tremendous sensation as each craft banked in opposite directions within mere meters.  
  
"Wooohooo!" cheered Sorcha. "Come on Terr, aren't you gonna say something? That wasn't so bad after all, was it?"  
  
Terr smiled. She was always right, he thought. "Not at all, Sorcha, not at all."  
  
For a while, the two cheerful pilots flew in their most magnificent formations, each trying to outdo the other, and improve upon their previous maneuver. For them, this was the most fun they'd had in a long time. It wasn't often that the Rebel command on Bothawui allowed for flight exercises, especially when the pilots were still rookies. The danger of alerting an Imperial fleet to the secret Rebel presence on their planet was too grave for the Bothans. Although they relished in the relatively peaceful state of their neutrality, it was a well-known fact that the Bothan SpyNet largely aided the Rebellion.  
  
Terr and Sorcha glided serenely through space before their patrol time was up. Looking down on the great planet, they both marveled at its beauty - a certain beauty that could only be seen through this unique perspective. Neither had had the advantage of extensive space travel in their youth, so the sight of a beautiful planet like Bothawui from space was a rare treat. Terr had grown up on the planet, in foster care. He knew little of his real parents. At this point in his life, it was more a matter of choice than it was his caretaker's sheltering.  
  
Sorcha's past was as much of a mystery to Terr as his own. But not to her. She had run away from her parents. She was an idealistic young woman, and as soon as she heard about the rebellion against the Empire she was instantly enchanted by the prospect of overthrowing its tyrannical ways. But her father was, in fact, an Imperial officer. She had run away, and she had never told Terr any more than that.  
  
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Terr asked, observing the scope of Bothawui's physical features. From its magnificent cities to its lush valleys, it was truly an inspiring world, and Terr had enjoyed growing up there. However, there was a part of him that yearned incessantly. It yearned to leave this old world behind, and to see all the wonders of the galaxy. It was typical of young people to feel this way, he told himself, trying to ignore the strong emotions. But these feelings extended beyond a simple desire to adventure.  
  
The two young pilots had always felt a connection, just as they did now as they shared the surreal vista. "Yes it is," replied Sorcha. "Quite beautiful."  
  
There was a serene silence between the two craft's comm. Systems for a while afterwards. Suddenly, a glimmer appeared in the distance, as a metallic cruiser began its entrance into Bothawui's atmosphere. Examining the object, Terr's face lit up.  
  
"Baaka!" 


	4. The Meeting

The Rebel command station on Bothawui was located on the outskirts of one of the planet's many large cities. Beyond the government district was a shelf in the earth that led down to an open, grassy steppe. It was here that the Bothans harbored the Alliance's pilots and officers in small, circular white buildings that seemed to sprout out of the grassland.  
  
In the center of the plateau was a massive clearing, which hid a pair of enormous metallic doors. When the doors shifted apart, the grassy covering retreated, and an extensive hangar was revealed below. The hangar contained three fighter squadrons consisting of X-Wings, A-Wings, and B-Wings. In addition to the fighters was a large, multi-level transport craft, which housed the Rebel commanders during interstellar flight.  
  
The only other craft in the small fleet was a Bothan cruiser, which belonged to Captain Baaka Mal'lar.  
  
Descending toward the clearing on the steppe, Baaka gave the appropriate clearance code and the hangar slowly opened under his ship. He waited for a few moments, sitting back in his chair and giving a sigh of relief. Although he was one of the fleet's most experienced pilots, he still never felt at ease taking the helm of a space vessel. When it came to combat situations, he much preferred to fight his opponent face-to-face.  
  
That is why he was preparing his young co-pilot, whose name was Grendu, to take over his own cruiser when he retired from his combat duties for the Alliance. Grendu was a young officer in the SpyNet and would fly the ship on countless missions, retrieving data and surveying movements of Imperial fleets. Baaka was proud of his apprentice, but he would have much preferred to pass down the ship to his foster son, Terr.  
  
Deactivating the repulsor-lifts, Grendu settled the craft and shut down its flight systems. Baaka exited the cockpit and opened the underside ramp. He began his descent slowly, always conscious of the frail bones in his old body. Inside the hangar, he was met by two A-Wing pilots who had just removed their helmets.  
  
"Baaka!" Terr exclaimed, running toward the old Bothan. He embraced the short, furry creature with a strength that made Baaka's eyes wide. The old pilot chuckled.  
  
"How has my Terr been? Not getting into any trouble, I hope!"  
  
Terr exchanged a funny smile with Sorcha, who was standing beside him. "Not really," he said, turning back to his caretaker. "But I was worried you'd never get back from that mission they sent you on! What happened?"  
  
The Bothan nodded, understanding Terr's curiosity. It was a strictly classified operation, and most of the pilots hadn't even heard about it. "It will all be explained shortly," he said. Descending the ramp behind Baaka was Grendu and the rest of the crew. One of the Bothan spies was carrying some sort of Imperial information disc. Baaka turned his head to note that the plans for the Death Star were intact.  
  
"Come now," he said to the two young pilots. "The commanders await us."  
  
Terr and Sorcha looked at each other, perplexed. Apparently they had been invited to a meeting they didn't know was taking place.  
  
The meeting room was located at the end of a long corridor extending from the hangar. It was a large, circular room whose antechamber housed an elevator. This elevator led to the surface, where the General made his home in one of the small white buildings.  
  
Still in their flight attire, Terr and Sorcha sat beside Baaka on one of the wide, transparent benches that lined the wall. Compared to Baaka, the two humans were rather tall. Terr had a rugged build, and dark, unkempt hair that matched his profound eyes. Sorcha's hair was sun-colored, and tied in a bun behind her head. Her eyes glittered with an occasional green brilliance that reflected the very nature of her spirit.  
  
The General himself, General Amyrran, towered above all the pilots now lining the wall of the room. He stood in the center of it like a great monument, strong and still. As the troops filed in, they fell under his steady, lofty gaze. Despite his commanding presence, the General was in reality a rather benevolent person, and one of the most passionate adherents of the Rebel ideals.  
  
As soon as the meeting room was full, the General ordered the doors closed. One of the Bothans in Baaka's crew brought forward the data disc containing the plans for the Death Star. General Amyrran held the disc up to the light for a brief moment, then handed it to an assistant who inserted the object into a verification scanner. The room was silent. Then the General spoke, with a resonant voice.  
  
"Rebels," he addressed the aggregation, by their proud title. "The time has finally come. The time to overthrow the Emperor once and for all."  
  
Many of the Rebels, including Terr, stirred upon hearing the same old rhetoric. These meetings are pointless. he thought to himself.  
  
But the General went on. "We now have the key to thwarting the Empire's ultimate plan for our destruction." He looked over to his assistant, sitting at the verification scanner, who nodded in reply. "These plans, uncovered by Captain Mal'lar and the Bothan SpyNet, detail the vast system that the Emperor has developed to empower his latest superweapon."  
  
Some of the pilots began whispering amongst themselves. Terr and Sorcha remembered clearly hearing about a battle station with the power to obliterate a planet.a weapon that had been destroyed by Rebels at the Battle of Yavin. The Death Star, Terr recalled.  
  
The Rebels' fears were confirmed at last. "A Death Star," said the General with a solemn tone. Some of the pilots gasped. The Rebels looked at each other to see a shocked expression on every face. Baaka simply lowered his head. He had already known about the new weapon, and couldn't bear to see such sudden fear in the eyes of his comrades and his foster son.  
  
General Amyrran returned to his passionate tone of voice. "We will not let this diabolical weapon be completed. Time is on our side. We will rendezvous with Rebel forces from across the galaxy at Sullust. There, we will plot our final victory. This is the end of the Empire."  
  
Fear quickly turned to excitement within the crowd of troops. Terr and Sorcha became ecstatic at the prospect of finally proving their skills. It was during this frenzied state that Baaka noticed one of the Bothan spies from his crew open the door of the room and sneak out of the meeting. His haggard, hairy face wrinkled in confusion. Where is he going? he thought to himself.  
  
Baaka crept toward the door without letting Terr or the General take notice. He pushed a button on the control panel and the door opened, revealing a small Bothan hurrying down the long corridor. Baaka turned around once more, then entered the passage and began his pursuit. 


	5. Revelations

When Baaka reached the surface, the Bothan spy was nowhere in sight. He shielded his eyes from the intense afternoon light of the planet's star, searching the purlieus of the great field for any sign of movement. But there was nothing save for the tall blades of sun-dried grass swaying in the steady breeze. Baaka stood, uneasy about the disappearing Bothan, but at the same time soothed by taking in the serene environment of his home planet.  
  
Baaka was interrupted from his meditation by a hand on the shoulder. He jumped, and turned around to see his foster son, Terr.  
  
"Oh, sorry Baaka.didn't mean to startle you."  
  
"You know better than to sneak up on an old creature like that," he said, frowning. He noticed the penitence in Terr's eyes and quickly changed to a less austere tone. "In my younger days, I would've grabbed your wrist and thrown you to the ground before I got a chance to look you in the eyes!"  
  
Terr laughed. It was hard to imagine this old, gray little Bothan as a great fighter in his day. "I'm sure," he said, sarcastically.  
  
The two of them began to walk nonchalantly through the blades of grass. Terr kicked his feet at the soil as they went along. "So." he began. "I guess we've got a good chance of finally beating those Imperials, don't we?"  
  
Baaka nodded. "Yes, it appears we do. Those plans.the ones I attained on the mission.they should prove quite advantageous to Rebel command."  
  
"So you're going to deliver them, personally?" Terr asked.  
  
"Well." Baaka slowly stopped pacing. "I've been meaning to tell you something, Terr," he said, looking to his foster son.  
  
"What is it?" Terr asked, looking puzzled.  
  
"I've been meaning to tell you that.I plan on retiring. Retiring from my duties for the Alliance."  
  
Terr was a bit surprised by this. Although he knew Baaka was an old and battle-hardened pilot, the thought hadn't crossed his mind that his lifelong caretaker would someday cease to be one. But in truth, there was a much deeper thought that had crossed Terr's mind. In that brief moment of contemplation, he realized that someday.Baaka would also cease to be.  
  
Baaka noticed that his words had made Terr uneasy. But before he could say anything, Terr gave a reply.  
  
"When?"  
  
"I've already spoken to General Amyrran.my retirement is effective immediately."  
  
Terr still seemed uneasy, although Baaka didn't know that his words had affected his foster son on a much deeper level. He tried to cheer him up. "Don't worry Terr, I'm not leaving Bothawui. I'll still live with you as long as you need me.it's just.I've been through a lot in my years. I've witnessed too many of my brothers die."  
  
"But what happens when you die?"  
  
Terr's words numbed Baaka. He hadn't realized what his foster son was thinking about. "I-I." He was at a loss for words. The old Bothan let out a sigh. "Maybe we should have this discussion elsewhere."  
  
Baaka's abode was located beyond the edge of the grassy plateau. A narrow dirt path led over a ridge to a smaller mesa, which overlooked the beautiful, lush valley behind the Bothan city. Baaka had raised Terr here, in a small house, similar to the white structures at the Rebel base. It was here that Terr, as a child, was taught by his foster father the many languages that he had learned in his own youth. It was here that Terr was taught how to fly a ship, and how to hunt with a carbine. It was here that Terr met Sorcha, who had been looking for shelter on the alien planet.  
  
Terr and Baaka settled in the central part of their home, a circular dining room. Terr poured a glass of nectar for his foster father, then sat at the opposite side of the dining table. Baaka hunched over and took a sip of his juice, then sat back and relaxed his old body.  
  
"Terr, I know you want to be a pilot for the Alliance. When my time comes to leave this world, I know you'll be able to fulfill your dreams." He sighed slightly. "I can't say that I don't fear for your well-being, every time you go off and fly your fighter. But I understand how it is. It's in your blood. You are destined to be a legend.just like your father."  
  
Terr crossed his arms and rubbed his brow. It was clear that mentioning his parents made him uncomfortable. Terr never knew them - Baaka was the only father he had. He wanted to have a heritage he could be proud of.a legacy he could carry on.but his parents had abandoned him.  
  
"Don't talk about my father," he said, bluntly.  
  
Baaka let out a deep sigh. "Why are you so reluctant to hear of your real parents?" He leaned forward, trying to lock eyes with his foster son. "I have taken care of you for as long as you remember, Terr, I understand this. But you come from great people.great friends." This got Terr's attention. "I think it's time I told you everything."  
  
"Your father, Rallé, was of noble blood. His parents passed away before he knew them, and so he reigned at a young age." Terr listened intently. He suddenly felt a connection to his origins - his father had not known his own parents either. "Your mother, Eirian, was a very good friend to him. She was a lovely woman.they loved each other dearly." Terr now saw even more parallels with his own life. Baaka's description of his mother reminded him of Sorcha.  
  
"You've always said that were you a friend to my father.how exactly did you meet?"  
  
"Ah.heh.those days seem so long ago. Well, your father and I both became Je- " he stopped abruptly.  
  
"Go on," Terr urged, now quite attentive.  
  
Baaka maintained an uneasy expression, but it was clear that his conscience was pushing him to continue. "Perhaps I should start at the beginning. I have told you before of the Force. You understand its principles, but you are not an adherent to its philosophy. Many years ago.there existed thousands who believed in the power of the Force, those who could master its gifts and utilize it.as a means of protection. These protectors were called Jedi Knights."  
  
"Jedi.?"  
  
"Yes. The Jedi were wise, noble warriors. I myself, was a Jedi Knight."  
  
Terr's jaw dropped. "You.you can use the Force?"  
  
Baaka gave an awkward grin. "Well, not anymore. I abandoned the Force.many years ago."  
  
"Why did you abandon it?"  
  
"I cannot yet explain that to you. Be patient, Terr. I will tell you everything in time. You see, I was a Jedi warrior, alongside a man named Ka'avik Nvega. This man discovered your father, discovered his ability to use the Force. And so your father joined us, and became a Jedi Knight."  
  
Now, Terr had gasped. "My father.Rallé.he was a Jedi? A warrior?"  
  
Smiling slightly, Baaka nodded. "Yes, he was. A valorous warrior."  
  
Terr was silent for a few moments. His mind was racing with new thoughts. He had finally discovered the truth about his past, and it was an intriguing one. Still, one thing puzzled him greatly. "How did my parents die?" he asked.  
  
Baaka lowered his head, and placed his furry hand on the table. "Terr.I know you ask me questions, expecting answers.but the truth is, I do not know how they died."  
  
Terr was confused by Baaka's reply. If he didn't know how his parents died, then how did he even know they were dead? What if they were still alive?! he questioned. What if Baaka had kidnapped him from his own parents? No. He had to calm down.this rush of knowledge was clouding his logic. He took in a deep breath. "They are dead, aren't they?"  
  
"Yes." Baaka's firm response was surprising to Terr. "At the time.I was still attuned with the Force." The old Bothan's haggard fur wrinkled on his face, as if he were about to cry. His eyes showed a sudden morose, something Terr had rarely seen in his foster father. "I.I felt it.I felt your father's death." He lowered his face to his furry arm, wiping the tears from his eyes and then standing up. It was evident that the memory had caused him pain.  
  
However, Terr was still very inquisitive. "My mother.do you know, though.do you know that she's dead?"  
  
Baaka cleared his throat, trying to collect himself and answer the question. "I can not be certain, Terr. But if she were alive.I know she loved you so.she would have come for you by now. I'm sorry."  
  
Terr briefly contemplated the idea that his mother could still be alive.out there, somewhere, waiting for him. But he soon noticed that Baaka was heading toward the door out of the dwelling. "Wait, where are you going? I still have so many questions."  
  
"I'll answer the rest of your questions later. I don't think I'm up to it at the moment." He looked at his foster son in the eyes, and was deeply moved. He still had a certain innocence in his eyes, but there was much more than that now. He was finally free from Baaka's sheltering.he could now see beyond the dusty veil of time, and discover his past. He could have a legacy to carry on. He could become a new legend. Baaka's heart swelled with pride. Yet he still feared to tell Terr everything.now, at least. Death is too cruel to share with those full of life, he thought.  
  
"Come now, Terr. Fetch your sword." 


	6. The Veranda

Outside of Baaka's abode, overlooking the vast valley that lay beyond the great city, was a circular, open veranda upon which Terr and Baaka often practiced the art of sword-fighting. Baaka had a great passion for the ancient weapon, and his technique was unmatched. Terr, although inferior to his former-Jedi-Knight foster father in terms of skill, had been gradually developing a worthy technique of his own.  
  
"Alright, Terr. Raise your weapon. I want you to practice your offensive maneuvers," instructed Baaka.  
  
Terr nodded, and raised the steel blade so that it was parallel to his body. Baaka, standing on the opposite side of the veranda, swung his sword to the side, then raised it over his head and into a defensive position.  
  
When the old Bothan first began teaching his foster son to fight with a saber, Terr was very hesitant to strike at his caretaker. Soon, though, the young man's fears had subsided and gave way to an intense devotion to the classical art of fighting. Now Terr was perhaps the most skilled human swordsman on the planet; quite an accomplishment for a person of his age.  
  
Baaka studied the intensity in Terr's eyes for a moment, and in an instant, he was being charged at. Baaka parried a slash at the legs, and swung his blade toward Terr's chest. Terr quickly blocked the attack. The metal blades shrilled against each other as the two fighters leaned in on the other. Baaka released his weight and jumped backwards, twirling his sword with sheer expertise.  
  
Terr began circling Baaka, careful not to falter in his posture or move his body too much. He had a very adroit, classical form, but Baaka was experienced enough to know how to exploit every weakness of it. He quickly lunged to Terr's side, striking upward in an abrupt motion. Terr swiftly swung his sword around to catch Baaka's strike in mid-swing. Now at an arm's length, the old Bothan was surprised by his foster son's skillful maneuver, but quickly parried his horizontal blade away.  
  
Terr examined Baaka's body motions for anything to indicate the Bothan's next move, but he was quite stoic in appearance. He studied the creature intently, slowly pacing his way closer to his opponent. Taking notice of this, Baaka quickly spun around to provide a forceful interception against Terr's strike. He brought his blade down swiftly, crouching to swipe at Terr's legs. Terr used all his agility to flip backwards, passing over the speedy swing.  
  
In a desperate strike, Baaka lurched forward, thrusting at Terr. Terr landed on his feet and immediately recoiled, letting Baaka drop to the veranda floor. For a moment he became concerned that the old Bothan may have injured himself, but Baaka soon displayed his hardened skill by using his strong, agile legs to leap up. Coming down, he thrust his weapon at Terr, who parried the blade.  
  
The two swordsmen were now locked in a fierce face-to-face battle. Shhhreeehk! Swweeessh! Their blades clashed in an incessant attempt to strike the other down. Terr twirled his saber furiously, trying to wear down Baaka's defenses. The old Bothan stood firm.  
  
Baaka finally ended the stalemate by delivering a powerful, upward slash against Terr's blade. The weapon leaped from his hand, but it tilted in the air and fell into his other. Grasping the hilt firmly, Terr hopped backwards just in time to dodge a slash to the abdomen and retaliated with a forceful strike against Baaka's saber. Terr engaged his opponent in an offensive position, gradually forcing Baaka toward the edge of the veranda.  
  
The Bothan, now breathing quite heavily, realized he was heading into a trap. Suddenly, as Terr was gaining force for another swing, Baaka quickly spiraled and forced his weight against Terr's, sending the human swordsman off balance and falling to the ground. Kicking his weight upward, Terr awkwardly slashed off an incoming strike, as Baaka remained static in an intense fight. Terr was now breathing heavily himself. His muscles were loosening and his parries succeeded at an increasingly slower pace.  
  
Soon, the human found himself swinging away strikes while lying with his rear on the veranda floor. Baaka steadily struck downwards with amazing precision, wearing down Terr's defensive ability until he would be forced to get up.  
  
"Come now, strike!" the old Bothan called out over the shrilling blades, his gray fur drenched with sweat.  
  
Terr's eyes drifted away for a split second, leaving his motions to instinct. In that one lapse of focus, as Baaka peered deep into his foster son's dark eyes, he saw something far beyond the boundaries of the veranda. For that moment, the old creature had seen the realms of the universe in a young human's eyes, independent of time, space, and human destiny.  
  
And just like that, Baaka took glimpse of an outstretched human hand, palm towards him, and in an instant he was sent flying backwards, hitting the ground with a thud. He lay there for a while, until Terr, picking himself up and regaining focus, rushed over to him.  
  
"Baaka! Are you hurt?"  
  
"No.no, I'm very well," the Bothan replied, studying the face of his foster son as if he had expected to see a perfect stranger, but instead saw none other than the familiar Terr. He was picked up to his feet. "Thank you."  
  
The two swordsmen returned their weapons to a pair of ancient, obsidian sheaths located on their blaster belts. Terr led the old Bothan by his arm back towards the hut, pacing slowly before the milieu of the lush Bothawui valley. Baaka looked down at the veranda floor and held a solemn, contemplative silence. Terr, puzzled, stopped and looked down at his old caretaker.  
  
"Is everything alright?"  
  
Baaka raised his head, and stared into oblivion for a few moments before looking at Terr, his dark eyes shimmering with mysterious emotion. Baaka's haggard face showed something akin to the look a mother gives when her firstborn leaves home. It was a look of deep understanding and acceptance, a feeling that obviously moved the creature quite a bit.  
  
"What is it?" Terr asked, curious.  
  
"Oh.nothing," replied Baaka, dismissing his emotion with the shake of a head. Terr could sense that Baaka was still keeping a lot from him, but he felt he shouldn't push the old being too much. Baaka would tell more when he was ready. The two of them resumed their way toward the hut.  
  
Terr shot a grin toward his foster father, and then looked downwards just in time to have his head forced completely upwards by a sudden, piercing noise. The siren was like the call of a distant predator, an indicator of death, but one's only instinctual source for survival. Baaka looked over the ridge, toward the rebel base. The alarm had sounded. Terr looked up at the sky, saw the black hawks of death, and stood firm on the cold veranda. His instinct gripped him.  
  
"I've got to get to the hangar." 


	7. Battle for Bothawui

The Bothawui star's light was almost completely blocked out by the swarm of craft in the air. What seemed like harmless black flies dotted the sky in a massive, menacing formation. An entire Imperial squadron had been alerted to the Rebels' presence on the planet.  
  
As Sorcha speedily approached the sloping ridge that led to Baaka and Terr's home, she noticed a figure, shadowed with the seemingly infested sun behind it, racing with incredible stamina towards the nadir on which the hangars were located. She stopped as she saw the figure approaching, and began to run alongside her comrade in the direction she came from.  
  
"How did they find us?" Sorcha yelled to Terr, racing alongside.  
  
Terr, intent on reaching his A-Wing fighter, hesitated before realizing that Sorcha was referring to the massive Imperial force that trailed them in the stratosphere above. "I don't know," was all he could manage, sparing his breath for the run to the center of the vast plateau.  
  
Soon, a squad of TIE Interceptors had reached their target area. The amazingly maneuverable craft plunged towards the earth, firing streams of laser energy that scorched large patches of the tall grass. What followed was a truly horrible smell, as if you'd incinerated a wamprat with a single shot of the carbine, Terr thought. The young pilots continued their way across the plain, dodging through the firestorm that rained down upon them.  
  
Reaching an incredibly low altitude, the Imperial fighters banked upwards in a movement that seemed to shift an entire air mass, producing a shockwave that sent Terr and Sorcha falling to the ground. Sorcha covered her ears as the demonic craft screamed, twirling back up into the sky. The stench of ion exhaust mingled with flaming grass particles made her stomach turn. Terr raised his head to survey the environment, picked himself up out of the tall blades, and grabbed Sorcha's hand, forcing her into a mad dash.  
  
By this time, several Rebel pilots already in the hangar had taken flight. Two X-Wings were now engaged against two TIE Fighter patrol squadrons in the sky above the mesa, struggling to outmaneuver the swarm of hostile craft. The Rebel fighters took on fire from all angles, blasting their way through in search of a convenient offensive position. The more experienced of the two fighter pilots fired a barrage at the leading TIE, causing its metallic structure to sizzle and crack open, creating a tremendous burst of light before it descended to the ground in a shower of fiery debris.  
  
"Shields at full power!" the pilot commanded to his wingman.  
  
Both X-Wings thrust full-speed through the new clearing in the surrounding ring of TIEs, a skillful move that forced two inept Imperial pilots to crash into each other. The three remaining Fighters pulled away from the explosion that ensued, giving the Rebels just enough time to turn around and engage in attack position. They fired incessantly in the direction of the oncoming enemy craft. The commanding pilot was able to dispatch one of the TIEs before a barrage of green lasers penetrated the hull of his wingman. He rolled his X-Wing just in time to avoid the effects of a massive collision that consumed all three pilots.  
  
The Rebel commander's heart sank at the loss of his loyal comrade.  
  
Sorcha glanced up at the battle raging overhead, breathing heavily as she continued her run with Terr. Soon, the two pilots came to a stop, completely exhausted. Terr kneeled in the sun-dried grass, seemingly oblivious to the sounds of war that pierced the air around him. He tried to control his breathing and regain his strength.  
  
"Terr! We can't just stay here!" Sorcha pleaded, between breaths.  
  
"No," replied Terr, equally exhausted. "There's not enough time to get to our ships." He was clearly eager to join the dogfight already occurring. "I...we..."  
  
He took notice of a B-Wing fighter that had landed following a training exercise shortly before the attack began. Its pilot lay in a charred stretch of earth that had been struck by a searing stream of green laser. The pilot-less craft was a mere twenty yards away. Sorcha looked towards the hangar entrance a hundred yards in the distance, then down to Terr, and over to the fighter he was eyeing.  
  
"Oh no..." she started. "You've never flown one before! There's no way, Terr..."  
  
Terr's gaze was fixed on the B-Wing craft. It was unlike him to abandon logic in favor of following his impulses. But something had changed in him – something, after finding out the truth about his parents, after the swordfight with Baaka, after the sirens – he felt free, as if nothing was holding him back from reaching his dreams.  
  
He got up, seized Sorcha, kissed her, and raced towards the B-Wing.  
  
"You're not always right!" he yelled back. He was smiling, although Sorcha didn't notice. She simply stood in shock of the courage and sudden foolishness that had overcome her best friend. Shaking her head, she muttered something, and continued running towards her A-Wing in the hangar.  
  
Terr climbed the fuselage of the grounded B-Wing, and entered its cylindrical cockpit. He had always admired the power and grace of the Alliance's newest fighter, personally designed by the legendary Admiral Ackbar, but was still unfamiliar with its complex design. He tried to relate the mass of flashing buttons and power levers before him to the control panel in his own A-Wing. He saw something that looked like it could be the ignition activator and, with a deep breath, pushed it anxiously.  
  
"Ah," he said, as the glass shield above him lowered, sealing the cone-like cockpit. With a bit more confidence, he flipped a metallic switch that instantly ignited the craft's repuslor-lifts. The B-Wing hovered steadily, gradually ascending to the same plane upon which the battle for Bothawui was raging. Terr reached into the pocket of his flight suit, took out two gloves ordinarily used for controlling the throttle of an A-Wing, strapped them onto his hands and grasped the flight controls of the new craft.  
  
The cockpit of the B-Wing was attached to a T-shaped hull, the rear engines supporting two wings that folded perpendicular to the straight, metallic structure leading down to a front-facing laser cannon. Two additional cannons were located on the wings of the craft. Activating the B-Wing's attack mode, Terr braced himself as the S-foils opened and the weapon control interface appeared on the internal monitor.  
  
The hull of the B-Wing rotated around the stabilized cockpit as Terr targeted the nearest squad of TIEs. The leader of the three Imperial Fighters caught glimpse of the approaching enemy craft and commanded his wingmen into attack formation. Terr looked down at the hangar on the surface below, and the squad of A-Wings taking flight. Then, arming the laser trigger, unleashed a barrage at the oncoming TIEs.  
  
Hhwat wat wat! The three cannons fired in rapid succession, propelling bursts of glowing red energy that seemed to scorch the cool Bothawui air. The flaming streams plummeted into the leading Fighter. Its metallic hull glowed red before bursting outward; shooting debris that acted as dangerous projectiles to Terr's craft. He rotated the hull, allowing the flaming scraps to pass by and rest on the earth below.  
  
The two remaining TIE Fighters maintained their lock on the Rebel craft, unleashing an assault of laserfire as Terr twirled the mass of the B-Wing in an attempt to outmaneuver the onslaught. Streams of green energy blazed across the ship's wings, wearing down the integrity of its shields.  
  
"Gah..." Terr struggled to stabilize the fighter's energy systems. He was now in a dogfight with two enemy craft, utilizing the B-Wing's unique design to dodge attacks, while firing incessantly at the TIEs in short intervals to throw off their persistent assault. Soon, the silver paint on the B-Wing's S-foils was charring from laser strikes. "Set shield recharge to maximum rate!" he commanded to the craft's astromech droid. The onboard monitor displayed the redirection of laser energy to the ship's defensive systems. Terr let out a sigh, and was jolted by another direct hit from the pursuing TIEs.  
  
Just then, the Imperial fighters exploded in a dazzling combination of fiery force and thunderous sound. Terr's B-Wing reeled slightly from the blast before the smoke cleared, revealing a single A-Wing speeding to its side. Terr sighed in relief, and grinned as the two fighters matched pace and direction. He switched on his comlink, just in time to hear the familiar, warm voice.  
  
"Yes I am!" Sorcha replied to her friend's earlier comment.  
  
Terr looked to the right out of his cockpit shield, into that of his loyal companion, and smirked. She returned a warm smile, before pointing in the direction that their ships were moving as a friendly reminder to Terr of the ruthless Imperial onslaught they were entering.  
  
"Oh, right," he said with a grin, returning his focus to his forward view.  
  
The A- and B-wing fighters were now leading the better part of the small Rebel fleet towards an Imperial battle frigate and its multi-squadron fighter defense. The large craft was painted a dull, dark silver and amidst the swarm of similarly-colored fighters, it appeared to the small group of Rebels that their advancing target was a puppet-master, the TIEs screaming forward in an attempt to break free of their strings. Nevertheless, Terr kept his gaze fixed on the menacing frigate.  
  
Terr's concentration was broken by commands from higher-ups over the comlink. The X-Wing pilot who had led the very first counterattack now ordered the band of fighters to split up into pairs. "A single mass is an easy target," he continued. "Try to take down as many fighters as possible, and cover your wingman! The important thing is to keep enough of us alive long enough to prevent that frigate from coming in range of the Alderaan."  
  
In all his haste, Terr had completely forgotten about the Rebels' command ship, the Alderaan, and the officers that were planning to evacuate the planet. "Baaka..." he remembered; he had left the weak old Bothan all alone on the veranda. Terr hoped with all his might that Baaka had made it safely to the hangar, and would be aboard the Alderaan when the Rebels regrouped. After this suicide mission is over, he reminded himself.  
  
"Three kilometers..." one of the B-wing pilots broke in, reminding all of the great danger approaching. Sorcha's heart raced. She and Terr had only minutes ago never been in real combat before; now they were going head-on against some of the most well-trained foes in the galaxy. "Wind increasing steadily from the north...all pilots adjust craft to maintain target lock..." Sorcha complied, shifting the throttle of her A-Wing slightly to the right. In doing so, she caught glimpse of a cluster of thick cumulus clouds flowing steadily into the path between the warring squadrons.  
  
"Uh, I think we may have a problem..." she cut in over the comlink.  
  
"What is it?" asked the X-Wing commander, focusing on combating the wind with his throttle.  
  
It was too late to take any action, however, as the wind increased dramatically and the clouds accelerated. Soon, a dense white haze enveloped Rebel and Imperial craft alike. Some of the Rebel pilots, used to relying on their own eyesight in battle, began to look around nervously.  
  
"I can't see anything!"  
  
"Where are they?"  
  
"Cut the chatter and watch your targeting computers," the commander ordered.  
  
"May the Force be with us..." Sorcha added.  
  
Immediately thereafter, a swarm of TIE Interceptors began to break through the edge of visibility, mere meters in front of the Rebel fighters. "Ah!" Terr exclaimed to himself, shifting his throttle so that the B-wing banked to the left, just in time to avoid a head-on collision with an Interceptor. Sorcha's A-wing jerked to the right, and soon the Rebels' plan to pair up crafts had proved a drastic failure. X-wings shifted upwards and spiraled down; apparently the TIE pilots had not anticipated the possibilities of the Bothawui atmosphere either, and had run right through the Rebel squadron without much time to realize it.  
  
A handful of A-wings and X-wings turned around to pursue the Interceptors. "We can't let them reach the Alderaan!" the commander yelled into his comlink. Laser bolts struck his fighter, and turned his voice to static.  
  
Terr switched his comlink to a direct channel with Sorcha's craft. "Sorcha! Sorcha, can you hear me?"  
  
"Terr? Yes! I'm right behind you."  
  
Terr glanced at his targeting radar to note that Sorcha's A-wing was trailing half a kilometer behind. "Good," he said. "Listen- we're going to stop that frigate, you and me."  
  
"No, we're not. Are you crazy, Terr? What has gotten into you today? There's no way just the two of us could-"  
  
Suddenly, both pilots were reeling from laser strikes. A squadron of TIE Fighters had penetrated the masking clouds near the edge, and had both Rebel craft targeted well beforehand. Terr and Sorcha struggled desperately to maneuver their craft out of the line of fire, but neither of them could maintain a solid idea of what direction they were moving in. Terr's B-wing sped around to its original direction, unable to hold off the barrage of enemy fire. "Gah!"  
  
Terr watched as his shield energy gauge plunged rapidly. "Sorcha!" he screamed. "I need hel-"  
  
His request was responded to with a piercing scream.  
  
"Sorcha!" 


	8. Into the Cloud

By the time the Rebels had begun their attack against the Imperial frigate and its defenses, Baaka had finally reached the hangar on the ground below; only after traversing the vast distance from his abode, across the charred fields, all by himself. Despite his frailty, his age also brought with it the experience needed to maintain stamina over long runs. Nevertheless, he was irate when he saw his own crew preparing to flee the planet without their captain.  
  
"Captain Mal'lar!" a suited Grendu exclaimed. The Bothans were loading supplies onto their cruiser. "You're here!"  
  
"No thanks to you!" Baaka growled. "I want these supplies loaded twofold! I'll ready the ship myself!" He turned quickly from the group and proceeded up the underside ramp into the Bothan cruiser. He entered the cockpit and sat in his captain's chair. Activating the preliminary flight systems, he slouched a bit and let out a deep sigh. He was worried about Terr. I was afraid this might happen, Baaka thought to himself. The boy takes after his heritage...what more can be said? I cannot fight the strength of blood; no one can. Yes, the Force flows in him. There is not much more I can teach him. Not now, at least. Perhaps if I were younger.  
  
Soon, the loading had finished and Grendu was settling in his co-pilot chair while a handful of other furry humanoids took positions throughout the ship, including in the laser turrets. Baaka was still in a pensive state, and rather than making a suggestion that could potentially aggravate his already irritated captain, Grendu initiated the flight sequences himself. A Bothan sitting at a navigation panel to Grendu's right looked about the cockpit with a searching eye.  
  
"Where's Fenn?" he asked.  
  
This inquiry immediately jerked Baaka's head back up and his graying eyes spotted the empty post, near the door that led to the cargo bay. He searched his memory for an image of Fenn, as he hardly knew any of the SpyNet operatives on the ship personally. He soon recalled that the Bothan who sat near the cargo bay door was in fact the same one that had sneaked out of the meeting with General Amyrran earlier that day. Baaka turned around and looked through the front window of the craft, through which he was able to see the Imperial formation in the distance overhead.  
  
"Fenn won't be joining us," he said with a strange smirk, finally solving the day's earlier mystery.  
  
Grendu and the navigator looked at each other curiously, but then dismissed the matter in trust of Baaka's leadership and continued readying the cruiser for flight. With a few applications of pressure on his control panel, Baaka activated the repulsor-lifts and the ship began to hover above the hangar floor. Grendu pointed to a position in the sky slightly to the left, indicating that the Bothans were to pass by the zone of battle and head straight for the space outside of Bothawui's atmosphere.  
  
The Bothan cruiser accelerated forward, gradually ascending in an arc-like formation towards its destination. A minute or so behind the ship was the Alderaan, a rather bulky but significantly downsized cruiser of Mon Calamari design, suited specifically for the transport of officers and miscellaneous supplies for a small fleet such as this one. It soon established a communications link with the other craft in the fleet, including Baaka's, and a male lieutenant issued commands from the starship to the fighters.  
  
"The Alderaan is preparing to reach the Hyper Point," he began. "All fighters must reach the following nav coordinates as soon as possible." A reading of the nav coordinates appeared on the navigation screens of all the fighters, as well as the Bothan ship. Baaka studied them while the voice continued. "Your primary objective is to escort the Alderaan. All remaining fighters please report your status."  
  
"This is Red leader," the X-Wing commander's voice broke in over the comlink with a dithering tone. "I'm hit, but I'll make it to the Alderaan."  
  
"Red three reporting in; returning to the Alderaan."  
  
"Red four here, I'm on my way."  
  
"Red six-I'm-I'm h-!" the voice gave way to static.  
  
"Green leader-I'm in a tight spot here. Ache can you get this tango off my back?"  
  
"Roger that!" a voice replied. It was followed by the muffled sound of an explosion.  
  
"Yeah! Thanks Ache."  
  
"No problem cap; Green four ready to get out of this hellhole."  
  
"This is Gray five; Gray leader's down. My shields are pretty bad but I think I can shake 'em long enough."  
  
There was a brief silence over the comm. system. Baaka leaned forward nervously, hoping to hear Terr's voice cut in over the silence. Nothing.  
  
"Green five and Gray two," the lieutenant began. "Our system indicates that your comlinks are set to direct link. Please return your comlinks to their normal setting so that we can hear your reply. Green five and Gray two. Adjust your comlinks immediately."  
  
Baaka was slightly relieved. At least they're alive, he thought to himself. But he knew that neither Terr nor Sorcha, nor the two of them put together, had enough experience to fight their way out of a frontal Imperial assault.  
  
"They're still in the cloud," Green four interrupted. "Their fighters may not be transmitting comlink back to you."  
  
"We can't afford to lose any more men today. Somebody get them out of there!" the lieutenant ordered.  
  
Baaka looked to the right out of the cockpit window, examining the hazy sky in the distance. Through the dense white particles he could make out refractions of glowing laser bolts, red and green, sparking the surrounding atoms and creating a wonderful illumination within the cloud. It was like lightning, he thought, and the thunder that followed came in the form of monstrous explosions that pierced the air itself. As he watched the flaming debris project for meters before plummeting to the earth far below, Baaka realized that his foster son, the one person whose duty was his to protect, could be among the charred, mangled shrapnel. I no longer have faith... he thought to himself. The will is my own, not that of the Force. Baaka suddenly grasped the controls of his cruiser and sent the ship shifting violently to the right.  
  
"Captain!" Grendu shouted.  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
Baaka was intent on rescuing Terr and Sorcha even if it meant endangering his own life and the lives of his entire crew. His gaze was fixed on the huge white cloud about five kilometers away. He pushed the throttle to full power, and Grendu settled in his chair nervously as the craft sped at maximum velocity towards a mass of fighters zooming in their direction. X- wings, A-wings, and B-wings sped by, some missing the Bothan cruiser by mere meters.  
  
A scattered squad of TIE Interceptors was next, firing green streams of destructive energy at the fleeing Rebel craft. The Bothan gunners instinctively began launching volleys of red laser at the passing enemy fighters, putting them to an abrupt end in a brilliant array of colorful sparks and sizzles. Grendu watched through the front window with awe as the cruiser dispatched Interceptors left and right, sending them spiraling down to the abandoned white city below. He noted the subtle irony of the Imperial pilots being interred in the same soil that their enemies had inhabited.  
  
"Captain Mal'lar, where are you going?" a taut-sounding lieutenant asked over the ship's comlink.  
  
"To save those fighters!" Baaka replied. He promptly terminated the craft's communications systems.  
  
"C-Captain...our duty is to escort the Alderaan!" Grendu spoke up in sincere protest.  
  
"I know what our duty is," Baaka said sternly. "The officers aboard the Alderaan, however, could care less whether or not the two people I care about most die in that cloud, there."  
  
The Bothan cruiser zoomed into the white haze, now blasting away at squads of TIE Fighters as they screamed through the cloud on their way to the Alderaan. "See?" Baaka said with a smirk to Grendu. "We're doing our duty."  
  
The craft's navigator studied the targeting radar. "Captain, two Rebel fighters .53km, straight ahead."  
  
Baaka slowed the ship until he was able to make out two heavily damaged friendly craft, an A-wing and a B-wing, struggling to make their way out of a dogfight with three maneuverable TIEs. Baaka gritted his teeth and armed the front lasers of the cruiser. He fired in rapid succession, blasting away one of the Fighters while his crew finished off the others. Krrrsssshhh! The two TIEs spun out of the cloud, trailing dark smoke as they fell to terminal velocity.  
  
Grendu turned the ship's comlink back on so that Baaka could speak to the two nearby Rebel craft.  
  
"Terr! Sorcha! Are you injured?"  
  
A great weight was lifted off of Baaka's conscience as his foster son's voice came over the comlink. "I'm fine," Terr said. "But my shields are out. Sorcha's communication system must be damaged. I haven't been able to talk to her since those TIEs first hit us."  
  
The three craft were hovering slowly at low throttle in a triangular formation, the nose of each pointed towards the center of some region of the cloud. Terr could make out Sorcha's face through the windshield of her A-wing, and she seemed to be indicating that she was wounded. Terr mouthed the words 'hang in there,' and motioned for her to follow him out of the cloud.  
  
"We'll take you back to the Alderaan," Baaka said. He turned the cruiser around slowly and proceeded at half-throttle back to the east, out of the cloud. The battered fighters trailed behind.  
  
Suddenly, Baaka's attention was alerted to the targeting radar on his frontal control panel. "Captain!" the navigator exclaimed. "Enemy frigate at 6, moving full speed!"  
  
The three slow-moving Rebel craft were now located directly in front of the Imperial battle frigate. The cloud had begun to shift to the south, revealing a stretch of open air between the sights of the Imperial commanders and the vulnerable Rebels.  
  
Baaka immediately activated his comlink. "Terr, switch to full-throttle and get up alongside us!"  
  
Terr motioned to Sorcha and the two fighters made their way to opposite sides of the Bothan cruiser.  
  
"Arm the rear cannons," Captain Mal'lar ordered his crew.  
  
The furry humanoids scurried about the ship, taking their positions in the rear of the craft to deliver as much punch to the pursuing frigate as they could. The searing green lasers came immediately, striking the rear of the Bothan craft. Grendu instinctively set the shield recharge energy to maximum in the aft quadrants.  
  
"Terr," Baaka said over the comlink. "Get back to the Alderaan. Now."  
  
Terr, knowing that neither he nor Sorcha would be able to survive a direct hit, nodded so that Baaka could see through his cockpit window. The B-wing slowly took its place in front of the Bothan cruiser, followed shortly by Sorcha's A-wing taking Terr's cue and speeding back to the Rebel command ship.  
  
By this time, the Alderaan and most of the Rebel fighters were entering the highest level of Bothawui's atmosphere and preparing to enter into space. Both the Bothan cruiser and the Imperial frigate began to accelerate upwards towards their mutual target.  
  
Zzzschooo! Baaka's craft continued to take on laser strikes as it returned red volleys at the menacing frigate. The shields were slowly wearing down.  
  
"Redirect all energy to the engines!" Baaka ordered.  
  
"But...captain...we won't survive without our shields!" Grendu protested.  
  
"We won't survive either way if we can't outrun it! Now do as I say."  
  
Grendu adjusted the gauge controls on his control panel, and the cruiser began to pick up speed. Soon, the Bothans were beyond the range of the frigate's lasers. Baaka let out a sigh of relief. We'll make it, he assured himself. But his assurance was short-lived. A flashing light on the frontal control panel indicated that a missile was locked on to the craft.  
  
"Incoming warhead at 1.31km!" Grendu exclaimed.  
  
Baaka waited a moment before giving his command. The other Bothans in the cockpit sat with extreme apprehension, waiting for their command. Missiles were difficult to outmaneuver, and there was not enough time for the rear gunners to intercept one. If they did not act soon, the Bothans would be incinerated.  
  
"Release the countermeasures," Baaka commanded.  
  
"All of them, sir?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Grendu pushed down on a lever on his control panel, which opened a small scuttle in the bottom rear of the cruiser. A series of glowing flares was propelled outwards, the first one striking the incoming missile and creating a thunderous sound on impact. The Bothan craft accelerated to the highest level of the atmosphere, its hull enduring tremendous heat as it sped through the last traces of atmospheric gases. The Imperial frigate was left in the outer reaches of the Bothawui sky, accompanied by a decimated fleet of about four or five TIEs. The Imperial commanders cursed the Alderaan and the Alliance as a volley of glowing warheads charred the front of their frigate. 


	9. Warm Repose

The interminable corridors aboard the Alderaan were walled with a glistening, white metal. The array of lights lining the ceiling of the hall produced an intense reflection that entered old Baaka's pupils harshly. His haggard, furry visage winced a bit. He kept his eyes squinted, and continued walking his way down the white hall, with a slight limp. Must have agitated it on my way to the ship, he thought.  
  
Shortly after the Alderaan had entered space, Terr and Sorcha had landed their fighters within the command ship's small interior hangar. It was there that Baaka followed, landing his cruiser before hurrying off into the labyrinth of shimmering corridors in search of the two young pilots. A rather uncharacteristically surly Mon Calamari attendant had informed him that Sorcha had been admitted to a recovery room for minor injuries, and so the old Bothan made his way to the medical deck.  
  
Sorcha lay upright on a raised cot in a small, shimmering white room. Her left arm had been burned by a fuse malfunction inside the cockpit of her A- wing, and was now being bandaged by a medical droid. With a few rigid, mechanical motions it wrapped the bandage around the length of her slender arm. The droid pivoted its upper body to a small tray to the side of Sorcha's cot and picked up a long, leather white glove. It turned back and extended its skeletal metal arm.  
  
"To cover your bandaging, ma'am," the droid buzzed with a poor emulation of human tone.  
  
"Thank you," Sorcha replied, taking the glove with her right hand and slipping it onto her left. When the base of the glove reached near her elbow, she extended her fingers to confirm the good fit.  
  
The medical droid turned away from the cot and walked with a clunky step and mechanical drone, exiting into the corridor. The only being in the room now besides Sorcha was Terr, who had escorted his wounded friend to the medical deck immediately after landing. He leaned over the side of the cot and put his hand on Sorcha's bare one.  
  
"Still hurting?" he asked.  
  
"Not really. The numbing agent works pretty fast," she replied.  
  
Terr nodded, biting his lips together somewhat. His eyes drifted downward and stared at nothing in particular. Sorcha studied the glimmering, brown spheres with curiosity.  
  
"What is it?" she asked.  
  
Terr lifted his gaze and focused on Sorcha's own dark eyes. "Hm? Oh...nothing."  
  
The thin, glass-paneled doors that marked the entrance into the room from the corridor shifted open, revealing a short creature with gnarled, gray fur. The two young pilots looked at their visitor and smiled.  
  
"Baaka!" Sorcha said joyfully. "We thought we'd lost you."  
  
The old Bothan smirked, partly out of the warmth the two young humans' joy brought him, and partly out of self-satisfaction from the skillful piloting that saved his life, as well as those of Terr and Sorcha, in the battle. He stepped forward into the room, receiving Terr's hand on his back as he stood next to Sorcha's cot. "I thought I'd lost you as well for quite some time, there!" he said with his old smirk. "Thankfully we're all alive and well," he continued, looking up at his foster son.  
  
The very welcome reunion was interrupted by the voice of the communications lieutenant over the Alderaan's speaker system. "The fleet has reached the Hyper Point. We are now preparing to enter hyperspace for our flight to the Sullust system. The entire Rebel command will be present at the rendezvous. Details of our operation are forthcoming." The speaker went silent, but the sound was replaced by rampant speculation amidst pilots and soldiers throughout the ship over the aforementioned 'details.' It had quickly been learned through word of mouth that the Alliance's entire fleet would be present at Sullust; even Baaka was anxious to see such legends as Admiral Ackbar, Commander Skywalker, and Princess Organa.  
  
Shortly after the Alderaan made the jump to lightspeed, another shifting of the doors caused all three in the small recovery room to look to the entrance. In the doorway stood a tall, muscular figure suited in officer's attire. They recognized the man immediately, but were too surprised by his visit to offer immediate greetings.  
  
"General Amyrran," Baaka said eventually, clearing his throat a bit. "How are you?"  
  
"Very good, Baaka, thank you," the general replied, his voice militaristically deep and strong. His attention was not focused on his Bothan comrade, however, but rather on the two human pilots that were still holding hands. They tensed under his commanding gaze, taking note of their minor embrace as a possible reason for the officer's staring, and terminated it. Terr tried to stand up straight.  
  
A small grin spread across Amyrran's face. "I've come to commend you two on your heroic performance out there," he said with controlled sincerity. "For two pilots who had never flown in combat before, I must say...I am impressed! I'm only sorry it had to end in injury," he added, walking to Sorcha's left side and noting her medical-issue white glove.  
  
"Thank you General Amyrran," the young woman replied. "This won't be a hindrance in future battles, I can tell you that," she said, pointing at the wounded arm with a smirk.  
  
"I'm sure," the general responded with a contained smile. He looked over at Terr, who was obviously waiting with some apprehension to be addressed by the veteran officer. "And young Mys! Unfortunately, as I've been told, your own craft is still located on Bothawui..."  
  
Terr let out a half-crooked smile, but simultaneously lowered his head in shame. I shouldn't have been so rash, he reprimanded himself. The awkward smile came automatically, however, and was not indicative of his deep regret at being so foolish, in leaving his A-wing on the ground in favor of jumping into battle right away. It was simply a device that was triggered when he couldn't think of anything to say, or could not come up with a reasonable defense, as it was in this case.  
  
However, the general's motives were not to reprimand Terr, but rather to commend him, as the general had stated when he entered the room. "You flew well in that B-wing, Mys," he began. "Granted, it's not the ship you've trained in, but we can't afford to get you a new A-wing, now can we," he said with a laugh. "I've talked to a few people already, and it seems plausible that you may fly under the command of Gray squadron, at least as a trainee."  
  
Terr's face lit up. "I'd be happy to, general."  
  
"Good!" Amyrran replied with a grin. The tall, regal man took another glance around the recovery room at the three skilled pilots who gave him their full attention. "Well, if you'll excuse me I should be returning to the flight deck now." He turned towards the door, which shifted open automatically before the general stopped, as if he had just remembered something. He turned around to face the shorter, furrier humanoid of the bunch. "Ah, yes, Captain Mal'lar! I'd almost forgotten- would you care to join me? I feel we should review the information you've required before presenting it to Admiral Ackbar."  
  
"Ah, of course," the old Bothan said, limping his way towards the door. Terr and Sorcha watched with youthful amusement as the tall, strong, and generally steady Amyrran exited the recovery room with the short, feeble, weak-footed Baaka at his side. After the door had closed, they looked at each other and chuckled, knowing they had been thinking about the same thing.  
  
"We always do that," Terr said.  
  
"Yes we do, Terry," Sorcha replied with a smile. She sat forward a bit on her cot, and then swung her legs off the side where Terr was standing. Neither of them had had any time to change into anything other than their flight attire. Terr wore his green outer-jacket (a sign that he, at least in the past, flew an A-wing in the fleet), and Sorcha's had been removed in order to clean and bandage her wounds. It would need to be replaced, anyway, since the fabric had burnt up on one sleeve. Now she wore just her drab short-sleeve undershirt, along with the white glove on her left arm.  
  
Terr decided it would be best if he at least unzipped his jacket. He didn't exactly feel comfortable in his flight suit, anyway. He took a seat next to Sorcha on the cot, the two of them staring at their feet hanging off of the raised bed. Terr looked over to his friend's downward glancing face. Sorcha's big, hazel eyes seemed to be looking at him indirectly. He glanced back to the floor.  
  
"I'm sorry I was such a fool. Today, I mean."  
  
Sorcha raised her head slightly to look at her friend, but Terr's gaze remained fixed on the floor. He waited anxiously for her reply, not even looking at her through the corner of his eyes for fear of what she might say; she had a tendency to talk a long time about a single subject, and if that subject were admonition, Terr was afraid of how ashamed he'd feel, sitting next to her on this bed. Sorcha simply looked down again, and let out the slightest of sighs. "It's alright," she said, gently.  
  
Terr lifted his head, keeping his sights on the immaculate white wall in front of him. He hunched forward and clasped his hands between his knees, letting out his frustration with himself and his relief at Sorcha's forgiving nature with a sustained sigh, which he controlled by blowing air through his lips. His hair dangled slightly in the front, blocking his peripheral vision. He didn't realize that Sorcha was now looking directly at him, waiting intently for him to break the silence. Terr, in a semi- meditative state, staring blankly at the empty wall, could sense her will.  
  
"It's strange, you know. I'd never flown a B-wing before in my life. I don't know what came over me; I just saw the ship, figured I wouldn't have enough time to get to my A-wing, and took it. I wasn't thinking about how well I'd be able to fly it, or if I was even ready for combat." He snorted, and rubbed his brow before turning his focus to Sorcha. "I certainly wasn't thinking about how you'd take that kiss," he said, the rising corners of his mouth breaking the melancholy mood.  
  
Sorcha smiled and shook her head slightly. "It was fine. Although, I may have appreciated it more if we weren't surrounded by searing fatal laser blasts and huge explosions," she added with that characteristic grin that made Terr chuckle every time he saw it.  
  
Terr looked back down at the floor of the medical chamber, then straightened his shoulders and sat up. His gaze drifted away, toward the entrance of the room as he began speaking. "I completely forgot about Baaka. I left him alone on the veranda." He sighed. "I'm just glad he made it to the hangar. Otherwise, we'd be space dust right now." Sorcha nodded, looking down at the white glove that covered her painful injury. The two pilots stared in silence.  
  
The young man turned to face his friend. "My whole life... I've never been able to just... let go. I was always so worried about the repercussions of my actions, that I never took any risks. And if you don't take any risks, how will you ever get anywhere in life?" Terr looked down, and held Sorcha's covered hand gingerly, careful not to agitate the wound. He knew deeply that there was something inside of him that had been awoken this day that had brought with it dramatic changes. He couldn't exactly pinpoint what that thing was, or what had stirred it – whether it was the revelations from Baaka, the fight on the veranda, the battle... the kiss... Whatever it was, he knew that some task in the great plan of the universe had been assigned to him, and that the legends of the past were calling him by name.  
  
The brown-haired Rebel smirked, then raised his head and locked eyes with Sorcha. "And I always thought you were the courageous one."  
  
Sorcha smiled. She gripped Terr's hand with her gloved one, and wrapped her other arm around his back. The two friends hugged, the warm embrace coming as a great relief after such a stressful day. Sorcha was too tired from the battle and the numbing agent in her bloodstream to say much, but she had been thinking deeply about what her best friend was telling her. She always thought that Terr needed to lighten up a bit and stop worrying about things, but after today's events she feared what might happen if her friend were to abandon all cautiousness again.  
  
As she rested her head on Terr's shoulder, Sorcha realized how deeply she cared for her comrade. She had always considered him the best friend a person could ask for, although in most respects he was the only person she'd ever been close to, but lately Terr had been giving her more attention than usual. She took this as a sign that her friend was maturing, and so was their relationship. She wasn't exactly sure how things would work out between them, but as she rested on this cot next to him, she knew that in spite of everything that had happened to her to make her wind up on Bothawui, she was a very fortunate human being.  
  
Terr caressed Sorcha's golden hair lightly, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. She lifted her head off his shoulder, and looked at him. At that point, they knew they were about to kiss.  
  
Sorcha leaned in closer, but Terr suddenly jerked his head to the side. "Something's wrong," he said coolly.  
  
Sorcha was taken aback. "I...I'm sorry..."  
  
"No, no. Something's wrong with the ship. I can just...feel..."  
  
The two pilots jumped as the sound of blaster fire emanated from the corridor outside the room. 


	10. Hostile Company

It had long been known to the members of the Rebel Alliance that the Bothan SpyNet was a double-edged sword. On one hand, the Bothans provided an invaluable service in aiding the Rebels in their fight against the Empire by acquiring all kinds of secret and vital information. On the other hand, Bothans were unpredictable. It was not a rare occurrence that a Bothan spy would switch allegiances in the heat of a mission if approached by a benefactor who offered a significant raise in credits for some simple information. In fact, the short creatures were known to attempt to work for both sides of a conflict as long as possible, for their own monetary gain.  
  
At the first sight of an Imperial Stormtrooper aboard the Alderaan, Baaka knew he had underestimated the extent of Fenn's treason.  
  
"What in the-?"  
  
General Amyrran, with Captain Mal'lar at his side and two Rebel troopers close behind, had noticed an Imperial-issue blaster rifle protruding from a ventilation shaft along the side of a corridor leading to the main deck. The group of Rebels froze in place as the metal grating that covered the shaft was flung open and slammed onto the white floor with a loud clang. When the familiar white-and-black metallic armor emerged from the hole, even the General was dumbstruck with fear. Two Stormtroopers writhed out of the shaft before standing to face the group of Rebels several meters away.  
  
The two Rebel guards had pushed their way in front of their commanding officers, and now kneeled with a clear shot at the enemy troopers. Amyrran drew his blaster and aimed it over their heads, targeting the menacing helmets that now stared straight at him. All five armed soldiers seemed to pull their triggers simultaneously, producing a loud blast that echoed throughout the ship.  
  
The trooper kneeling in front of Baaka fell to the ground, his face seared and unrecognizable from the enemy shot. The Stormtrooper who had delivered the blast, however, yelled in agony as he clenched his right arm, his disabled blaster lying on the floor. His comrade lay dead.  
  
General Amyrran and the surviving Rebel guard walked cautiously, blasters drawn, towards the injured Stormtrooper. Baaka remained behind, still frozen in place. He had just witnessed two men die within a single instant... Death was not something with which he was unfamiliar; in fact, he knew it all too well. However, the bloody second had jogged some pungent memory that made his hair stand on end. He realized that he couldn't let things happen like that again. He needed to take control.  
  
"General, I need to go back," the old Bothan called ahead.  
  
Amyrran continued advancing towards the Imperial soldier, not turning his head to respond. "You must stay with me, Baaka. The ship isn't safe." He glanced back ever so slightly. "You don't even have a blaster!"  
  
Baaka wrinkled his face as if the General's comment were an insult, knowing that blasters were unreliable weapons and could be used by even the most amateur of warriors, and villainous scum alike. He pointed to the obsidian sheath that hung from the belt around his light gray coat. "I have all the weapons I need," he said defiantly. "I must go back... for my children." The old Bothan stormed off in the direction he came from.  
  
"Captain Mal'lar! Baaka!" the General called futilely, before returning his focus to the incapacitated Stormtrooper that lay panting, sobbing, and attempting to remove the seared armor plate that covered his wounded arm. The Rebel guard knelt beside him, pointing his rifle at the Imperial's head. General Amyrran stood towering over the squirming soldier, utilizing his intense voice to intimidate the enemy for means of interrogation. "How many more of there are you, and where can I find them?"  
  
The Stormtrooper continued writhing in pain on the floor, unable to produce any sound except muffled cries. He stared through the dark of his visor up at the General's merciless face, seeing the man who had shot him through blurring tears. He interrupted his erratic breathing with a single, sustained hoarse note as if he was trying to say something, but the attempt came as his last breath. The Stormtrooper's head fell to the floor, hitting it with a metallic, almost hollow-sounding bang that sent shivers down the General's spine.  
  
Amyrran eyed the length of the corridor ahead of him. There were several other ventilation shafts lining its wall; one, he could see, was being opened from inside. The General gulped, fingered his blaster anxiously, and spoke to the kneeling trooper without looking down at him. "Teg," he said, his stern voice wavering slightly.  
  
"Yes, sir?" the guard asked, looking up at the General, then remarking where his eyes were fixed.  
  
"Keep close."  
  
It didn't take long before the corridors of the Alderaan were crawling with Imperial troops. A few squads of Stormtroopers and a handful of commanding officers had been smuggled into the lower cargo bay, possibly wearing Rebel disguises. Utilizing the ventilation shafts, enemy soldiers had now occupied a good deal of the ship's area, and were in strong enough numbers to overpower the Rebel fleet's relatively small crew. The invading Imperials had targeted the flight deck, the main hangar, and the medical bay.  
  
It was there that Terr and Sorcha now moved furtively to evade detection. Neither of them knew exactly what was going on inside the Alderaan, but the rampant sounds of laserfire were enough to make them cautious. Terr's black sheath remained on his blaster belt; his ancient weapon was now drawn and in offensive position. His holster was also vacant; he had handed his blaster over to Sorcha, whose own weapon had been left in the cockpit of her A-wing. The two of them stepped quietly, careful not to make any loud noises that could bring trouble their way. Neither of them had experience in ground combat, and thus felt highly unprepared for any possible conflict while armed solely with a blaster and a sword. They focused their intention simply on reaching the main deck, where they knew Baaka and General Amyrran had gone.  
  
Coming to a turn in the corridor, the two young pilots stopped. Terr leaned against the wall and signaled to Sorcha to stay still. Keeping his sword parallel to his body, he slowly turned his head and extended his neck around the corner of the wall, just enough to provide a single-eye view of the hall ahead.  
  
At first, he saw nothing. He squinted to shield his eyes from the effects of the beaming overhead lights and reflective walls, then focused on a pair of transparent doors at the far end of the interminable hall. He noticed a figure or two approaching, but could not make out who they were through the glass. As soon as the doors shifted open, he jerked his head back around the corner and tried to calm himself.  
  
Sorcha gave Terr a questioning look, eager to know what he saw. Terr let out a silent breath and simply motioned with his sword to move back in the direction they had come. The two of them walked as fast as they could without letting their boots fall heavily on the tile floor. They passed several medical chambers, including the one in which Sorcha had been recovering, and reached another hall similar to the one they were just at, on the other side of the ship. This time, Terr gave a rather cursory glance around the corner before swiftly moving around it and leaning against the adjacent wall, sitting on his haunches.  
  
"What was it?" Sorcha whispered.  
  
Terr looked up at her, his eyes glinting with a sort of concentrated fear. "Stormtroopers," he said evenly, keeping his voice low. He could see the fear strike in Sorcha's eyes at his response.  
  
"Well we can't sit around and do nothing," she protested, partially trying to cover up her evident unease. "They'll catch us!"  
  
Terr sighed lightly, before looking down the length of the corridor to a pair of transparent doors identical to those on the other side of the ship. "I don't think we have much of a choice..." he said.  
  
Sorcha sighed at Terr's defeatist tone. She gripped her blaster nervously with two hands, looking about as if in search of some tool that could get them out of this predicament. "There must be some-"  
  
The two young Rebels jumped at the sound of a voice emanating from the Alderaan's internal comm. system. A concealed speaker was located in the wall directly above Terr's head. Terr had jumped upright and was now in attack stance, sweat starting to trickle from his forehead. Sorcha laid a calming hand on his shoulder and pointed to the speaker.  
  
"Attention- attention, this is Lieutenant Kyrjill speaking. Imperial troops have boarded the ship. I repeat, enemy troops are on board!"  
  
"Thanks for the advance warning, Lieutenant Kyrjill," Terr quipped almost inaudibly, lowering his sword.  
  
The urgent message continued, "All troopers hold your positions; officers to the main-"The voice cut away to an abrupt static, before the comm. system reset to a silence that disquieted every living Rebel on the ship. After standing still uneasily for a moment, Sorcha broke the silence with a careful whisper that wouldn't make Terr jump into sword fighting position again.  
  
"What are we going to do?"  
  
Before Terr had time to answer, he perceived the sound of footsteps approaching steadily from the corridor of the medical bay around the corner. It must be the ones I saw, he thought to himself. The young pilot looked to Sorcha, and the two of them immediately stood against the wall, Terr's sword parallel to his body and ready to strike down the first Stormtrooper that passed around the corner. Sorcha leaned forward to get a look around Terr, but quickly realized that the enemy soldiers were approaching rapidly, and leaned back against the wall. Her blaster pointing to the ceiling, she closed her eyes and readied herself.  
  
Sorcha was not ready, however, for the sound of the transparent doors on the other end of the hall opening. She and Terr gave a panicked glance at the shifting entrance, which revealed two Imperial Stormtroopers, rifles in hand. The two Rebels looked at each other, hoping to sense some plan of confidence in their comrade's eyes, but instead saw only confusion and panic. Sorcha bit her lips and shot around to face the enemy troopers, who had taken notice of the young Rebel pilots and aimed their blasters accordingly.  
  
Before they could fire, however, Sorcha gripped her blaster with two hands and released a volley of three shots that struck one of the Stormtroopers and sent him tumbling helplessly to the floor. The other, attempting to avoid a ricochet, retreated behind the doors, which began to seal shut until the accompanying sensor device picked up on the armored corpse lying between the two shifting halves. Sorcha fired a confident blast into the open pathway, but the laser struck the wall opposite the one that the remaining trooper hugged, fizzling into an iota of red particles.  
  
Meanwhile, Terr remained braced against the wall, partially to avoid any shots that might come Sorcha's way, but mainly to be ready for the Stormtroopers he could sense were a mere meter away. As soon as the white- and-black-armored soldiers marched into the turn in the corridor, Terr spun towards it and let his sword fall strongly, slicing the rifle of the nearest Stormtrooper in half. The alarmed soldier stumbled, pushing his comrade against the wall and dropping the stub of his blaster. The other soldier pushed his seemingly inept partner off of him, but soon took notice of the armed swordsman and, thinking nothing of the ancient weapon's ability, took his time in aiming his blaster.  
  
Terr kept his feet fixed on the floor and swiped his saber against the armed trooper, the honed blade slashing through the dark fabric covering the Stormtrooper's left elbow. The Imperial recoiled at the sharp pain penetrating his skin, fell to the floor and lost control of his blaster, firing a stray shot that bounced harmlessly off the wall of the corridor.  
  
"Argh!" the wounded trooper groaned, clenching his teeth. He gripped his cut arm and looked up at Terr, fury in his concealed eyes. He lifted a leg and delivered a forceful kick at the young Rebel, who was sent falling backwards on the white floor. Terr managed to keep a solid grip on his sword as he rolled sideways a bit, before lifting his blade and intercepting a punch from the uninjured Stormtrooper. The sword struck the Imperial's arm awkwardly and bounced off the metallic armor, setting the soldier slightly off-balance. Terr picked up his legs and pushed them against the Imperial, forcing him to the floor.  
  
Sorcha glanced down at her struggling friend but was forced with a wince to return her focus to her shootout with the Stormtrooper as a laser blast struck the wall next to her head. With one nervous hand gripping the wall, she fired a barrage in the direction of the enemy soldier, but could not blast down the cover of the halfway-closed door. She let off the trigger for a moment, but did not duck down and instead kept her sights fixed on the edge of the door. When the Stormtrooper's head protruded from around it, Sorcha unleashed a merciless series of laser blasts that struck the enemy's metallic helmet, causing him to drop dead to the shimmering, white floor.  
  
With a sigh of relief, Sorcha turned around to see Terr locked in hand-to- hand combat with the Stormtrooper who had first turned their corner. The two soldiers grappled and wrestled furiously, Terr's sword inutile as his wrists were being clenched relentlessly. Sorcha raised her blaster, but could not get a clear shot at the Imperial trooper. She stood helplessly, fearing for her best friend's life. The Stormtrooper pushed Terr's right hand away, sending his saber clattering to the floor.  
  
The wounded soldier who remained on the floor took sight of the gleaming metal in front of him, and reached for the hilt. He suddenly collapsed short of the sword as a searing red laser struck into his armor from Sorcha's blaster.  
  
Terr used his free hand to deliver a forceful punch at the Stormtrooper's unarmored neck, sending the weakened soldier to his knees before collapsing on the floor, his helmet askew so as to reveal a bruised lower jaw.  
  
Terr stood up straight and brushed off his drab undershirt, breathing heavily. He turned to Sorcha and hugged her tightly, before picking up his sword off the stained floor and making sure that the blade had not been dulled. Sorcha let her muscles relax and looked back at the passageway between the transparent doors that now housed two armored corpses.  
  
"Sorcha," Terr said, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder.  
  
"Yeah?" she asked, turning her head.  
  
"Thanks," he replied, indicating with a nod the corpse behind him with a bloody elbow and a hole in its helmet. 


	11. Blast!

After the two young Rebel pilots had dispatched a squad of four Imperial Stormtroopers, Terr and Sorcha felt it all the more necessary to avoid any additional run-ins with the Alderaan's invaders. They resumed their objective of reaching the main deck in order to find Baaka and General Amyrran. Heading through the ship's pristine and eerily quiet corridors, the two Rebels turned each corner with utmost caution.  
  
Sorcha was now leading, as her blaster would serve as a far more useful weapon in the case that she may be spotted from afar poking her head out from around a corner. Terr trailed a meter or two behind, constantly turning around and looking over his shoulder for any sign of trouble, his sword poised to strike. As the two of them approached the final hall leading to the flight deck, Sorcha hugged the wall of the intersecting corridor and cautiously let her head move to the edge. She immediately returned to her former position, carefully monitoring her own breathing so as not to make any noises that could reveal their location to the squad of Stormtroopers that stood in the adjoining corridor.  
  
Terr took notice of Sorcha's visage and tightened his grip on the hilt of his metal saber. She turned to face him and nodded, indicating with a hand signal that the two pilots should find another way to reach the deck. They walked slowly away from the main corridor, retracing their steps. Careful not to make any loud noises, they turned one corner after another without moving their focus from their heavy boots.  
  
Once they had reached a point they felt was far enough away from the Imperials guarding the entrance to the flight deck, Terr and Sorcha stopped short of another turn in the maze of the Alderaan's white corridors and sat down. They both sighed in frustration.  
  
"I guess we'll have to go back where we started," Terr said, regrettably.  
  
"But how do we even know that Baaka and Amyrran made it to the flight deck?" questioned Sorcha. "For all we know they could be captured, or worse!"  
  
Terr wasn't sure exactly how he knew, but he had a strong feeling that his foster father had not been captured; and he was almost certain beyond doubt that he had not been killed. Still, he was unsure as to what they should do, and had a nagging feeling that something bad was about to happen. "I suppose we just have to-"  
  
"Freeze!"  
  
The two young pilots had not even thought to keep their voices down in case any Imperials had entered the passageway around the corner that they had already been through on their way to the deck. Terr and Sorcha now sat on the floor, helpless, in the sights of an enemy blaster rifle.  
  
"Give me your weapons!" the Stormtrooper commanded.  
  
Terr looked at Sorcha, sensing a mutual desire to stay alive, and laid his sword on the floor before pushing it towards the soldier's armored boots. Sorcha did the same with her blaster.  
  
"Now stand up!"  
  
The Rebels slowly gripped the wall behind them and pushed themselves up to a standing position. They eyed the enemy rifle warily, and instinctively raised their hands in capitulation. Sorcha looked at her friend apprehensively, but quickly returned her gaze to their captor for fear of being shot.  
  
Without adjusting his dominant stance, the Stormtrooper called to his partner. "Corporal, I've got some."  
  
There was no response.  
  
"Corporal!" the trooper called louder. His concealed eyes showed confusion, but they remained fixed on the prize in front of him. Terr noticed his captor falter a bit in his stance. Sorcha looked down at her blaster by the Stormtrooper's feet.  
  
"Don't even think about it," he warned, attempting to maintain his hold over his prey. He let out one more desperate plea, "Corporal! Get over here!"  
  
A metal blade cut into the Stormtrooper's right shoulder from behind, sending him face-first to the floor. A rigid, fur-covered foot placed itself on the dead soldier's leg as the sword was pulled out of him. The saber was then returned to its dark sheath by a pair of haggard, furry gray hands and Baaka let out a grim smile at the sight of his foster children.  
  
Terr and Sorcha stood in awe at what the old Bothan had done, but quickly shook themselves free of disbelief and retrieved their weapons from the floor. Before they had time to thank their rescuer, the elderly captain cut in urgently. "We must find General Amyrran. I fear he may be taken prisoner. It is imperative that the Imperials do not discover the location of our information on the Death Star. Those plans must reach Sullust."  
  
The three Rebels suddenly felt the hull of the Alderaan jolt ever so slightly as it exited hyperspace. It was clear to them all that the craft had not been flying long enough to have reached its original destination. Baaka sighed in frustration. "It looks as though our enemies have already made their way to the flight deck." Surely they have the General in captivity, he thought bitterly.  
  
"Well...where are they taking us?" Sorcha asked.  
  
"I don't know. But we must make our way to the cargo level. It is crucial that we find those plans before they do, and we may have a chance of escaping from there."  
  
Sorcha and Terr nodded in compliance. The short humanoid limped ahead to take the lead of the small group, and once again removed his shining steel sword from its sheath. His feeble body swayed as he forced himself onward, keeping his human companions at a quick pace behind him. The young Rebels realized that Baaka was leading them towards the main corridor they had just ran from, but trusted in his experience and wisdom nonetheless.  
  
As the group was nearing closer to the hall that led to the main deck, Baaka stopped in the middle of the shining corridor and turned around to face Terr and Sorcha. "Now we descend," he said.  
  
"But there isn't a lift here..." Sorcha replied, looking about curiously.  
  
"No," Baaka replied with a crooked grin. The old Bothan pointed to the metal grating that marked the entrance to a ventilation shaft on the side of the hall. "We'll crawl down."  
  
The two young humans studied the small grating skeptically. "Err...I'm not sure we'll fit," Terr said.  
  
"Nonsense!" Baaka rebuked. "Just let me get this passageway opened." The furry humanoid got on his knees and began working at the edges of the metal grating with his sturdy blade as a wedge. Terr and Sorcha stood armed, looking down opposite ends of the corridor. At the end to which Sorcha looked was a small porthole that revealed the starboard view from the Alderaan. Through it, she could see what appeared to be a planet outlined by the black of space.  
  
Studying the general size, terrain, and atmosphere of the spherical object, Sorcha felt a strange sense of familiarity. Then she recognized it. A rush of memories swept through her mind and triggered a gasp, as she contemplated the past, present, and future all at once. A wave of helplessness and fear overcame her, possibly from the depths of her long- forgotten experience, and possibly from the realization that the Alderaan was heading towards her home planet.  
  
"Naboo..." she whispered.  
  
"What?" Terr asked, turning his head.  
  
Sorcha's gaze remained transfixed by the porthole. "Nothing," she replied, coldly.  
  
"There!" Baaka exclaimed, as the metal grating fell clattering to the floor. He examined his helpful saber to make sure the blade had not been bent in the exercise. Taking note of its fine condition, he whispered, "Good work."  
  
Terr and Sorcha had scarcely turned to prepare themselves for entrance into the narrow shaft, when a squad of Stormtroopers, led by an Imperial officer, appeared at one end of the corridor. They raised their blasters at the small band of Rebels.  
  
"Don't move," the officer called out, sternly.  
  
The two young pilots immediately dropped their weapons to the floor. Baaka remained on his knees, his head already inside the ventilation shaft.  
  
"Blast," he said. 


End file.
